“I'm pretty sure this is the closest I'll be to a real-life superhero,” the 29-year-old laughs.

A non-descript community co-op at Nundah seems an unlikely place for superheroes, but it's here that I've come to meet Davison and his fellow members of the Australian Wrestling Alliance.

Every Saturday and Sunday these men – and they are predominantly men – set up their specially sprung wrestling ring and ferociously practise locks, holds, rolls, rope-running and body slamming for hours.

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They're training particularly hard as I arrive, the humidity inside the co-op made extra sticky by the smell of sweat.

This Friday marks their first show at the Tribal Theatre, Grindhouse Wrestling.

The AWA has existed for two years, and has about 30 active members. Davison, who works in retail by day, hopes to make the Tribal its regular home, interspersed with on-the-road matches elsewhere in south-east Queensland.

I ask Davison the inevitable question about theories that wrestling is all faked. He answers by turning his left forearm over to reveal an ugly 15-centimetre-long keloid scar.

“Back in 2008 I had a match with a guy who's now in the WWE,” he says. “I landed on my arm wrong, and I broke my arm, snapped it clean – and I wrestled for another three minutes.”

Three months and a steel plate later, Davison was back in the ring.

Davison wrestles as Australian Wolverine and will be one of the main event match-ups this Friday night.

But right now he's leading the drill session, with 10 men gathered around him in the ring.

They pair up and practise grabbing their opponent's feet and sweeping them down onto the mat. The wrestlers spread their arms wide as they go down, timed to make contact with the mat at the same time as their back, thus spreading the force of the impact over a wider surface area.

As they drill, I hover around the edge of the ring, pressing down on its tarpaulin surface to feel the foam mats underneath.

“There's no give in them,” drawls a brown-haired young man, resting with his back against the corner pads. “They're just there so the wood doesn't pinch your back.”

His name is Jesse and he wrestles as “The Devil's Double” Jesse Daniels. He's 25, a steelworker by trade, and current AWA heavyweight champion.

We watch as wrestlers throw themselves and each other into the air, and onto the mat.

“It's like a very athletic performance art,” says Daniels, proudly.

It's a collegiate atmosphere, as wrestlers shake hands after every mini-bout, and take criticism and advice seriously.

Daniels pays careful attention to technique, jumping up to remind a wrestler never to interlock fingers as that makes them more vulnerable to breaking.

He admits wrestling's audience is niche, but not as much as you'd think.

“Wrestling is a pop culture sport, so people who are into it like things like comics, heavy metal, punk,” he says.

Wrestling is as much about taking the hits as it is about doling them out, and they practise “selling” with vigour – that is, making the hits look convincing, painful. For those who wrestle in masks, selling big is extra important as their faces are hidden.

Sometimes they don't have to sell.

A skinny kid lies spreadeagled on the concrete floor. His wrestling name is “David DeNiro” and he's just taken a knock to the throat from the much-bigger Mark Davis, who's now sitting beside him, chatting quietly, as DeNiro recovers his breath.

“It was an accident, but yeah, it could've been prevented,” admits Davis, as he and DeNiro discuss what went wrong.

Then, during a tag team match, one wrestler becomes frustrated at being unable to hear the whispered instructions of his opponent. A blow accidentally connects, and at once, the mood changes: the mock bluster and rivalry shattered by real anger.

“Hey, it's only wrestling,” comes a voice from one corner, as Daniels leads the upset wrestler outside to calm down.

On their return, the whole group gathers. Davison, a natural leader with 10 years' experience under his title belt, leads the discussion about the incident.

“If that happened in a show situation, how would you keep the match going?”

Suggestions are discussed thoughtfully, and eventually a more jovial mood returns.

Davison says they're always looking to welcome more people into the disparate fold of the AWA, but they have to be ready to work hard.

Even though results might be pre-determined, the reality is wrestling is extremely physical. Davison says it combines cardio, strength, flexibility, and adds something extra.

“You have to tell a story,” says Davison.

“There's nothing you can really compare it to.”

Near the end of the session, Davison and another wrestler, Troy Hunt (a travel agent by profession), offer to teach me how to body slam. While I certainly couldn't be described as petite, I lack upper body strength, and baulk at the idea that I could lift Troy.

But after repeated efforts – and an embarrassing hand misplacement – there I am, tossing a fully grown man onto his back.

Ironically it was Troy who did most of the heavy lifting, but still, for a moment I am absolutely buzzing.